


The Law of Similars

by artemisia_vulgaris



Category: Vermintide, Vermintide 2, Warhammer Fantasy, Warhammer: Vermintide
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bickering, F/M, Foul Language, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sex, Tender Feelings, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisia_vulgaris/pseuds/artemisia_vulgaris
Summary: Kruber’s strategic expertise is no match for Kerillian’s bravado. Kerillian’s apathy is no match for Kruber’s insight. When the going gets rough, sometimes the only thing you can do is admit what you can’t control.
Relationships: Kerillian (WHF)/Markus Kruber
Comments: 36
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I've been playing this game casually for over a year, I've somehow only recently fallen down this rabbit-hole of a ship. You can't blame me--there's plenty of chemistry there just waiting to be explored, if you look at it from the right angle. Remember the girl who would throw a dodgeball at your head or yank your pants down in the yard at recess because she secretly had a crush on you? That's Kerillian. Sympathetic angst and banter is their bread and butter, I say. The rest is gravy, ez sauce. I also don't normally post the stuff I write, but figured some people in the fandom might appreciate. So please, enjoy, if it floats your boat.
> 
> UPDATE: I bring you chapter three! I had heavily considered reworking major parts of the last chapter, since this story was supposed to be a lot shorter, and well, you know how things go. I'm normally one to drag things out for maximum effect, but then I decided to just let this be the indulgent thing that it is. The next chapter is gonna be a doozy. I hope you like!
> 
> Also, being a _complete_ nerd, I thought I'd share the playlist I made for inspiration, if anyone's interested: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/24gectKeImBpS8ayV0aTA5

Kerillian stepped carefully between the damp, mottled foliage that cluttered the forest floor. Pausing under the cover of a juniper tree, she checked her surroundings, taking everything in. It was late Autumn, and the scent of the leaves, the soil, the recent rain filled her with a sense of peace and longing. It was in these quiet moments, alone, that she truly remembered why she was here and what she was fighting for.

The reprieve was brief. She could hear the other four in the distance, cracking and lumbering through everything in their path. She sighed.

‘Children,’ she thought, annoyed.

They were on the western side of the Reik, close to Holthusen, scouting what Olesya described as “a sizable magic disturbance”. Naturally, there was cause for concern, but from what she could sense, Kerillian was confident that the threat was not so much a well-orchestrated plot, and more likely a few Norscan sorcerers meddling with forces beyond their comprehension.

She could feel it in the Weave beneath her feet as they got closer. It was like a dark void siphoning the life out of its surroundings, and it was gaining ground. She flexed her grip on the handle of her bow, fueled by thoughts of how she was going to make the scunners pay.

The forest was dense here, and only small shards of light made it down from the canopy. There was an eerie silence, absent of even the chatter of birds. The trees were more barren as she progressed, and yet somehow, the gloom became thicker, like a fog. The stench of rot hung heavily.

Soon she could see a large clearing, and carefully made her way closer through a stand of dead evergreens, their stark, thin branches clawing up toward the darkening sky. The clearing was almost a perfect circle, distinctly man-made. There was a shallow depression in the soil nearing the edge of the tree line, and she carefully crawled into it on her stomach, using it as a trench.

There was a large horde of rotbloods and skaven milling about, uniformly focused on a central figure that she couldn’t clearly make out. There was a faint, thin voice, and the dregs of Chaos magic on the wind.

A sudden horrendous roar came like a wave across the horde, a rallying cry, as they violently shook their weapons overhead. They began to rush out of the clearing in all directions. Kerillian flattened herself to the ground as a couple of raiders thundered past her, unaware.

Once clear, she peeked back over the small ridge. Only the one who had given the command remained. It was a Norscan sorcerer, to be sure, though bulkier than any of the leeches or stormers she was acquainted with.

‘I knew it,’ she smirked to herself, confidence upheld. ‘Mystery solved.’

The sorcerer was situated on some sort of small pedestal, an abomination of an idol with a particularly disgusting mantle of shattered bone and rotten, boil-covered flesh. His staff was even more revolting, eyeballs dangling from its blackened prongs like ornaments. He appeared to be admiring several humans in various states of dismemberment and decay that were impaled on the dead trees surrounding him.

‘This is too easy,’ Kerillian thought smugly. ‘One well placed arrow, and this is all over before it began.’

Without a sound, she leaned back into a kneeling position, drawing her bow as she took aim. She held her breath, offering a whispered prayer to Lileath, asking for her arrow to land swift and true.

As if to answer, the air suddenly deadened all around her. It was a subtle yet almost palpable shift, as though the entire world had come to a complete standstill. Kerillian felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and hesitated. Something was wrong. 

The sorcerer had raised his staff. He turned over his hulking shoulder, and his yellow-green eyes locked with hers, brimming with malice.

Kerillian felt the blood drain from her face, realization landing far too late. It was a honeypot.

The staff was brought down swiftly on the pedestal with a loud crack, and a chaotic wind spiraled out from its base. Kerillian was already on her feet and running, but within a split second the wind had overtaken her, throwing her to the ground. The soil had begun to seep a foul ichor, and she felt light-headed as it churned and bubbled beneath her. 

She attempted to regain her footing, and felt something thick and sharp strike her in the leg. Gasping in pain and surprise, she looked down to see a blackened bramble wrapped around her calf, thorns having pierced her armour. She reached for a sword as it coiled like a snake, and another bramble slapped around her wrist, followed by several others, all emerging from the ground seemingly of their own accord. 

The merciless, twisted briars tightened and pulled her back down toward the earth, immobilizing her. She thrashed in anguished panic, which only served to injure her further, barbs searing and slicing into her skin. She could not breathe for the thick, putrid stench filling her lungs, the reek of liquefied corpses, causing her to choke and retch.

The last thought she had before she finally succumbed to the dark was of complete and utter nothingness.

-

Kruber could no longer see their fifth through the mass of overlapping trees.

“Blasted elf. I warned her not to get out of line of sight,” he muttered.

“Haven’t you learned, azumgi? She does what she wants. In particular, when you tell her not to,” quipped the dwarf.

“She knows better,” Kruber scowled, feeling incredibly bothered.

“She's certainly cocksure, that one,” Sienna added. “Though I might say she’s been a bit off lately. You two were practically at each other’s throats earlier.”

“She gets worse as time goes on, not better,” Kruber lamented. “Then she goes and pulls these shenanigans. You’re not a hero, Kerillian!” he called off into the distance.

“Silence, all of you,” snapped Saltzpyre. “At least she will have the element of surprise.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do if she trips a patrol,” Kruber replied. He was now torn between these three, whose company he all but preferred, and the risk of their lone waystalker being ambushed, cutting them down to four.

“I’ve seen the wutelgi handle worse. Let her be our songbird in the coal mine. She’ll bring the fight to us, and we’ll be ready.” Bardin started whistling cheerily like he was just out for a nice morning jaunt, and Saltzpyre grouched in annoyance.

Kruber pressed on quietly for a few more yards, then sighed in frustration. “Sorry, mates. Always in groups of at least two. I’m feelin’ spry this morning, I’ll go on ahead. An' I'll give her a good thump upside the noggin while I’m at it, if they ain’t done so already.”

“Be vigilant, Kruber,” Saltzpyre cautioned.

“You'd just like to yell at her some more, wouldn’t you, Markus?” Sienna chimed, amused.

“No, that gets me nothing but insults,” Kruber mumbled as he began to pick up the pace.

Kruber's skill was above average for a hunter, but tracking a wood elf was far beyond most humans’ capability. He trusted that he knew her methodology well enough to be able to suss her out amidst the dwindling foliage. 

The air was more foul the further he got. He knew they were close now, and yet no Kerillian. He hoped the others were still at least within earshot as he slowed to a cautious step.

‘Can’t believe this,’ he thought, worrying his hands on the handle of his halberd. ‘Thinks she’s _so_ bloody superior.’

He began to notice the trees had not only shed their autumn leaves, but they were dying, growing black with rot. He covered his mouth with his hand as the stench became increasingly unbearable, and the light from above dim.

Kruber could see a clearing in the distance, saturated with a strange purple fog that seemed to be the main source of the odor. ‘This must be it,’ he thought. ‘Now where in Taal’s name is that miserable elf?’

His pulse quickened ever so slightly as he scouted the perimeter, and still found no sign of her. He suspected she wouldn’t have gone beyond this point, but the fog was too thick in the clearing to see any further.

When he began to circle back around, he spotted a rotblood mauler and a few skaven gathered tightly together near the tree line, and he crouched to remain hidden. They were arguing, the mauler looking like he wanted to crush one of the ratmen’s skulls with his hand.

“Where are the others?!” the massive Norscan bellowed. The skaven chittered and screeched, pointing fingers amongst themselves in confusion. 

Kruber felt a lump in his throat. ‘Shit.’

He crept a bit closer and noticed they were huddled around a heaped form at their feet. It was difficult to see in the shadows, but he could recognize that green cloak anywhere.

‘Fucking _shit_ ,’ he almost swore aloud.

His heart was racing, feeling loaded with adrenaline now as he strained to see. She wasn’t moving, as far as he could tell, and he could make out what looked like patches of blood all over her. He needed to come up with a plan, and quick.

There were only six of them including the mauler, but they weren’t the problem. Kruber was more concerned about the attention it would draw, along with the inevitable wave of vermin. They already knew the group was nearby, so it would only be a matter of time before he was singled out in the same way.

It would have been safer to try and regroup. Except that a nagging thorn in his conscience wouldn’t allow him to abandon the elf. He figured it was probably because that’s exactly the kind of behaviour he would’ve expected from her, to leave any of them for dead if there was an opportunity for self-preservation. He was going to be better than that.

‘Well, there’s nothin’ for it,’ he sighed quietly to himself. ‘She’s right, I must be half-witted. And drunk.’

Kruber made a silent prayer to Taal for protection as he wrapped a hand around his repeater. Five shots exploded in quick succession, taking down four of the skaven right off the top. Startled, the last one fled, and the mauler roared as it set its sights on Kruber, who was now charging at full speed with a halberd.

Kruber was able to cut him down from a distance, easily dodging the brute’s swipes. He could hear more skaven teeming in the distance, and knew he had only seconds. He rushed to Kerillian’s side, gingerly wrapping his fingers around her slender, bloodied wrist. Her pulse was faint, but there, to his relief. She was laying face down, her body covered in small cuts that bled through torn cloth. Kruber thought with an ounce of morbid amusement that it looked like a rat ogre had tried to eat her. 

He struggled not to inhale the stench of rot emanating from the ground, gagging a bit as he rolled her over onto her back. He took a moment to reload the handgun, then he pulled the elf’s limp body up into a sitting position, and leaned forward, slinging her over his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her thighs as respectfully as he possibly could (“Watch your hands, Kruber,” her voice told him in his head) and hoisted her up. 

He got back on his feet just in time to see a horde scrambling wildly towards them through the trees a few yards out, and he took off, away from the clearing and back towards the group’s last known position.

Firing more shots, he dropped a few ratmen that had tried to head him off, fifty or more still in hot pursuit. Though the elf was lighter and less wiry than he had expected, she was still slowing him down, and the horde was gaining. 

Then, one of Sienna’s fireballs came flying through the tree trunks like a cavalry flare, and it never looked so glorious, detonating upon impact and shattering the front line. Most of the skaven turned their attention on this new threat, veering off. In order to avoid getting caught in the cross-fire, Kruber made to circle around and meet them from behind. 

A few skaven remained on his heels. Kruber pointed the repeater backward over his shoulder and fired, missed. He cursed under his breath, sensing their increasing proximity. 

To his surprise, he felt the small body slumped over his shoulder begin to stir. Kerillian coughed violently as she regained consciousness.

“Nice of you to join us, elf,” he called. “Best sit still. You don’t look so good.”

“What—” she began, disoriented, voice dry and cracked. She looked up and found four clanrats right in front of her face, huge teeth gleaming viciously as they lashed at her with their crude, rusted weapons. She reached back and unsheathed her swords, which had miraculously remained intact.

Kruber felt a gush of blood at his back, the blades slicing mercilessly through sinew and bone as if the rats were made of butter. Kerillian took another stab, skewering two at once, before beheading the last.

Next he felt Kerillian pounding on his shoulder with her pommel. “Put me down, you oaf!” she demanded, fierce as could be.

“All right, all right!” He came to a stop and tried to gently release her onto her feet, but she wriggled out of his grasp half-way down and nearly tripped, shoving away from him. 

Kruber shook his head, watching her stumble over to a tree for support.

“Can you even walk?” he asked, dubious.

“ _Yes_ , mayfly, I just need to gather my bearings, that’s all,” she barked back, taking a few slow, deep breaths.

“You’n I are gonna have words later,” he threatened sternly.

She looked badly shaken, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, uncharacteristically off-kilter. Ignoring him, she turned to face the commotion not far off in the distance. Sienna was laying waste to the ratmen with her own personal inferno, and Kruber could see Bardin flying through the air, axes making quick work of the much larger northmen. Saltzspyre’s pistol and one of his trademark rallying commands could be heard not far off. 

Kerillian reached for her bow, only to find it missing from her quiver. She snarled in frustration and went for her swords again instead.

Just then, a disquieting calm befell them, the din of the battle nearby dampening into near-nothingness. Kerillian suddenly whirled, gripping Kruber’s forearm, and commanded with hushed urgency, “Run. _Now_.”

There was something close to terror in her voice, and he didn’t question it. As they fled he felt gooseflesh rising up his arms and neck, and knew Kerillian must’ve felt it too, whatever it was, as they both instinctively hastened their retreat.

They finally reached an area of the forest where some of the leaves still clung to their branches. Kerillian grabbed Kruber by the arm again, directing him to a nearby thicket, and pushed him unceremoniously into the underbrush. He hit the ground with an indignant grunt and rolled beneath it. She dove in after him, pulling some branches down over them for cover.

A foul wind gusted past, blasting them with debris. It was ten times worse than the stench from before. Kruber tried not to inhale, thinking that the last thing that needed to happen right now would be for him to get sick all over the elf. He felt a chill creep up his spine as it passed, triggering the memory of a sensation he had spent near decades trying to wipe from his consciousness. His heart was hammering against his ribs as the air between the trees finally began to settle, and he could breathe once more.

He felt battered, despite having made it out unscathed. He detested the elf for being cramped up so awkwardly next to one another, surely there could have been a more agreeable method of camouflage, but he also knew she liked to torment him in such small ways. He waited impatiently for an indication of the horde on their trail. For a while, the only sound was the rhythm of their breathing as it slowed. Kruber found himself focusing on it for some reason, praying to Taal for mercy, blood still rushing in his ears. A few stray skaven or rotbloods they could handle on their own, even without Kerillian’s bow, but anything worse than that…

After a minute or two had passed, Kruber shuffled slightly, hoping that perhaps they had somehow been lucky enough to escape, and he could release his body from its awful contorted position. He was also eager to know what the fuck was going on. Kerillian reached just over her shoulder, placing her fingertips on his breastplate firmly, telling him to remain still. Just as she did so, he could hear a distant flurry of footsteps through the brittle swaths of leaves.

A small patrol of five stormvermin with a hookrat in tow came within a few metres of the thicket. The leader raised its primitive claw, signaling the others to halt. It sniffed at the air, then began to sputter and sneeze.

“Fat rotten man-thing, the wind is stink-stink!” it screeched, turning to the packmaster. “We still must find them. Capture the other two, for great Grugzod. Now, quick-quick!”

Their squealing made Kruber’s teeth hurt, and he winced as the reality of their words sank in. The anger he felt from earlier was now a seething rage, directed mostly at the elf next to him.

Kerillian was on her back in a much more convenient way, watching and listening for the patrol as it scurried off again. She must have sensed Kruber’s eyes on her, suddenly snapping into self-awareness. She turned to him with those inscrutable black pools, wide still with an edge of dread, shifting uncomfortably.

Kruber was at a loss for words in that very moment, feeling overwhelmed as the adrenaline began to wear off. He shook his head, heated and claustrophobic, and fought his way out from beneath the underbrush with punctuated swats, carefully climbing over Kerillian’s prone form. Kruber took a quick survey of the area, and once clear, leaned down to offer her a hand.

She grasped it tightly and pulled herself upright. Dusting herself off, she told him quietly, “They'll be coming back this way soon when they realize they've lost us.”

“Oi, elf—”

“We need to get far away from here,” she interrupted. “Quickly.”

Kruber was in complete disbelief, somehow, seeing as this was exactly what he had predicted. 

“We can’t just—” he began, trying to retain some pretense of composure.

“More importantly, we need to be quiet,” she continued.

Kruber just stared, livid with shock. “You! This was your bloody cock-up!”

"Really, Kruber, this is no time for a silly mayfly tantrum.”

Kruber growled through his teeth, “Taal almighty. So you would have us abandon them? Just when I thought you couldn’t get any bleedin’ worse.”

“If we try to go back now, the same fate will befall us,” Kerillian spoke firmly, emotionless and with authority. “So quit yammering, and follow me.”

Kruber’s ears were that of a soldier, trained to obey at the sound of a command. He grudgingly realized she was right, this was going nowhere fast. He had no idea what was happening, and she must have had at least an inkling. He couldn’t be sure if the rest were even still alive. He felt a familiar pang, and tried desperately to ignore it, telling himself it wasn’t his fault, not this time.

Kerillian began to move in a southerly direction. She was trying to hide it, but Kruber could plainly see that she was injured. She paused when she realized he wasn’t behind her.

She turned her head to the side, speaking over her shoulder, and her eyes were sullen and downcast, an expression he’d never seen before. Kruber was suddenly captivated.

“We… can talk about this later, when we’re somewhere safe,” she told him, voice betraying but a hint of remorse.

Kruber could not explain the sudden rush he got at the sound of that, nerve endings lighting up in what almost felt like glee. He was vindicated, triumphant even, despite the circumstances. He gave her a curt nod, and began to follow.

“You're limping, elf.” His tone was marginally softened by a sympathy for something he recognized all too well.

“It’s fine, Kruber. Now move before they catch up.”

-

They put a reasonable distance between them and their target. The plan was to return to the location where they had originally been deployed, after some necessary time to recuperate. Fortune was with them as they came across an abandoned farmstead just before twilight.

The air here was crisp, a welcome change from the usual stagnant death. But it was also worsening the chill that lingered in Kerillian’s bones after rinsing her wounds in a small brook nearby. They were hiding out in the old barn, and Kruber, ever the woodsman, had built a rather cozy firepit in the centre. Kerillian felt blessed by the warmth, seated on a pile of leaves and hay as she tended to her leg.

She’d collected various herbs along the way: one to purge disease, one to help the wounds to close, and another to soothe her pain, with some luck. She chewed on them carefully, ingesting a bit of the third one as she prayed to Lileath for her benevolence. She applied the poultice to each of her cuts, silently baring her teeth at each brief sting. The fabric was so shredded that she could just reach through the holes without removing any of her armor, and she was somehow thankful for that.

Kerillian was well aware of her guilt over how she had acted that day, in all capacities, and it weighed on her in a way she hadn’t much patience left for. Her certainty had indeed led her astray, over and over, and it was starting to feel like she was no longer able to repress the consequences. Her brazenness, something she had once considered one of her best assets, felt like a liability now, and not just for her.

She could not think about what she had seen earlier in that plane of endless dark, what she knew to be the Mirai. She had been close, and now she could not shake, nor fathom, the sense of dread that plagued her spirit.

She paused for a moment to gaze up at the stars through the dilapidated roof, commiserating with the feeling of being a small, insignificant droplet of light cast hopelessly into the void.

The fire crackled, returning her to her surroundings, and she shook her head, finishing with the poultice before tucking the remainder of the herbs away for safe-keeping. She could finally allow herself to breathe, heat from the flame slowly bleeding the damp tension from her limbs. 

She felt Kruber’s eyes on her again. He had turned his attention to her wounded leg.

“How bad have you done yourself this time?”

He was seated almost across from her, whittling away at a partially rotten apple with a pocket knife.

“Could have been worse,” she replied. “Good thing I know what to do with the things you mayflies call ‘weeds’ growing around here.”

Kruber got up and ambled over to her. He crossed his arms and began tapping his fingers slowly, waiting, towering.

“So, I’d like to hear your explanation, an’ it better be a damn good one.”

“It was a trap, Kruber,” she replied, tilting her head to regard him with nonchalance. “A lure. And we fell for it.”

“Excuse me—’we’?!” he flared. “That’s why I bloody told you not to get so far ahead of us, didn’t I?! We had no idea what we were walkin’ into. The plan was very specific. But here you go again, thinking you know better’n the rest of us, as usual.”

It was salt in the wound. Kerillian narrowed her eyes at him, feeling cornered and vicious. 

“Are you done?” she spat. “I don’t need some glaikit mayfly who’s been alive for only a fraction of the years of experience I’ve had to tell me how to scout.”

“‘Stay in my line of sight.’ That was the last thing I said to you before I found your pathetic arse face-down in the dirt,” Kruber declared. “How’s that for experience?”

“Yes, and I chose to ignore you,” she sneered, though it was more of an admission than a defense. “You were getting on my nerves.”

There was something sobering in Kruber’s expression then, a sort of relinquishment.

“Ah, piss on it, don’t know why I even bothered.” Kruber turned to leave, embittered. 

Kerillian felt her hands ball into tight fists. Her remaining hopes were few, and she needed them if she was going to survive. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, this lumberfooted mayfly happened to be one of them.

“Look, Kruber, I—wait.” Her words sounded almost contrite, and rang out like a shot. “I know. All right?”

Kruber stopped. “...Know what?”

“I know I… I made a mistake.” She sighed heavily, bowing into herself a bit, eyes shut.

Kruber sniffed, skeptical. “Bloody right, ya did.”

Kerillian’s voice immediately reclaimed its defensive edge. “I was only trying to—I thought—”

“You can’t even apologize, can you?” he bristled. ”For making things worse, once again. You do realize how right _fucked_ we are at the moment?”

Kerillian felt defused, heavy and depleted.

“Of course I realize,” she confessed. “...I’m sorry.”

Kruber's anger fizzled into astonishment, and all he could do was gawk at her.

“There, I’ve said it. Are you pleased?” she asked, frustrated and feeling increasingly self-conscious. She just wanted to rest.

Kruber was silent for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. “What in Taal’s name happened to you back there, anyway?” he asked, eyeing her wounds.

“I… can’t speak of it now,” she said with a slight shiver, returning her gaze to the flames. “Suffice to say, there was nothing any of us could have done to avoid it.”

“The… the others. Are they still alive?”

“I was.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “We have to at least hope.”

Kruber sighed, only slightly less distressed. “Right, well… yeah. Okay. We're gonna need a plan,” he said, slowly smoothing his palm down over his face and beard. “But we’ll. We’ll figure this out.”

Kerillian nodded. “We will.”

“Ain’t gonna be easy. Whatever that was back there… Gotta be extra careful, and _strategize well_ ,” he told her with a pointed look.

“Aye.”

Kerillian was only responding by rote now, her mind very distant from her body.

Kruber noticed the shift in her demeanour, and snorted, “ _Now_ you go gettin’ all quiet.” His expression bore a strange mixture of determination and perhaps pity as he asked, “Feelin’ guilty, innit?”

Kerillian’s voice was worn. “You know nothing of my guilt, Kruber.”

“Yeah, well. I know it exists, despite what you say,” he said, seating himself down closer to her. “Maybe I’d know more if you were ever willing to speak of it.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’ll tell you one thing. I never thought I would find myself regretting anything, least of all the loss of a couple of mayflies and a dwarf.”

“Aw, come now, Kerillian. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t like us at least a little bit by now.” Kruber spoke with equal parts amiability and facetiousness.

“As target practice, perhaps,” she returned toothlessly. “Now leave me be. I want to be alone.” She turned away, resting her head on her forearms. Making an earnest apology had drained the very last of her reserves, more than even the journey that had brought her to this point. Of them all, Kruber was the only one who ever managed to get under her skin when she was in such a weakened state, his genuine integrity and purity of intent impossible to deflect in the face of her own denial.

Kruber cleared his throat. “Aren’t you forgettin’ one important detail about earlier?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“And what detail might _that_ be?” she sighed.

Kruber blinked slowly, unimpressed, and stretched his legs out toward the fire. “You’re a lost cause, elf.”

Kerillian scowled grudgingly as realization dawned. “Ehm. Kruber. I…”

When she looked over at him, he was watching her closely in the dancing firelight, an unusual hopefulness in his eyes. Humans needed so much reassurance.

“Th… thank you. For… coming to my aid.”

Her words came haltingly, but they were sincere, and Kruber was heartened, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Here’s hopin’ I don’t come to regret it.”

“You just might.” Kerillian made it sound like it was in jest.

Kruber half smiled. “Got us out of trouble then, didn't I?”

“Yes, Kruber, ya did,” she allowed reluctantly, thinking it was the least she could do to indulge him in the small victory. “Not… terrible, for a wretched human. I suppose.”

“Oi, that was almost a _compliment_. I must be your favourite wretched human now, eh?” Kruber bantered back with an overly satisfied grin.

Things were almost back to normal. Kerillian felt a small semblance of peace return to her, warmth from the inside. She resented how good it made her feel.

She still rolled her eyes at him again for good measure. “There’s no such thing.” 

She was exhausted. She grasped at her tattered cloak, tugging it over herself, curling up against the hay. “I’m going to try and get some sleep now, so I’d appreciate it if you’d shut yer wretched trap.”

-

Kruber awoke before dawn, gauzy blue light barely illuminating an overcast sky. He blinked slowly and tried to move, a razor-sharp pain immediately shooting up his neck and into the base of his skull, seeding the onset of a headache. He groaned, slinging an elbow over his eyes. 

He reached to the side with his other hand, pawing around in the slightly damp straw for the bottle of whiskey he’d found the night before. He’d been idly exploring the barn after the elf had taken to rest, unable to sleep himself, and happened to strike gold. It was left perhaps by some poor kindred soul who had hidden it here in hopes of a sanctuary that was never to be. 

He’d prayed in almost tearful gratitude to Taal and Sigmar, promising his everlasting service and devotion, so long as they kept the booze coming. This whole business simply wasn’t feasible otherwise.

He sat up enough to avoid risking a spill, hissing through his teeth as his joints crackled in protest. He was getting too old for this.

He uncorked it, took a few good gulps, set it aside. He inhaled deeply as the tension in his nerves began to ebb, and slowly rolled onto his stomach, laying there for a while before wearily dragging himself to his feet. The firewater had saturated his body with a modicum of morale and cheer, overwriting the vacant dull pain and chasing away the remnant shadows of his restless sleep. He mused that if this was to be the only comfort allowed to him near the end of his pitiful existence, then he was lucky to have it.

He wandered out of the old horse pen he had slept in, and wasn’t altogether surprised to find the fire still blazing, Kerillian crouched next to it.

She was threading a needle sharp skewer through the body of a skinned and gutted rabbit. She didn’t look up as he approached. He knew she’d heard him, and simply chose not to acknowledge, as usual.

“You're up early,” he grumbled, voice rough with sleep. He settled down nearby, holding the whiskey just out of sight.

“Couldn't sleep. Went hunting instead,” came her terse response. 

“Looks like. This why you're so cranky all the time? Not enough beauty rest?” he gibed affably, mellowed by the buzz.

She shot him a fierce look that said she wasn’t in the mood. He remained silent for a little while, debating if he should even ask. 

“Bad dreams again?” he ventured, feeling brave.

“Perhaps.”

Her voice was quiet, somber. Kruber had to admit he found it intriguing that she was sometimes able to dream of the future. Maybe it had something to do with the remarkability of her apology the night before (he hadn’t been sure he’d live to see the day), or the fact that he’d dreamt of her wistful song in his last vestiges of sleep (or had she really been singing?), or maybe it was just the whiskey. Regardless, right now his interest in her enigmata was especially piqued.

“Y’know, you’ve changed, elf. I can’t say how exactly, but you’re different from when first we met.”

“Only in ways you wouldn’t understand.”

“Like what?”

She turned to regard him with irritation. “And why are _you_ so curious all of a sudden?”

“Dunno. Guess I don't know much about elves.”

“Most humans don't, and we prefer to keep it that way.”

“I won't tell anyone. Promise.” He held up his hands to convey innocence.

Kerillian snorted softly, ignoring him as she carefully rotated the spitted rabbit.

“Alright, fine, don't tell me nothin', then.” He paused to take a breath as if he was about to plunge his face into ice cold water. “How’s about you show me, instead?”

“Show you?” She chuckled grimly. “What more could I possibly do to demonstrate what I have that you lack?”

“Well, I only meant. I-it's just…” He still wasn’t sure how to ask the thing he had wanted to for some time now, feeling frivolous and flustered. “I've never seen, y’know. Your mouth.”

Kerillian’s hands stilled, taking a long pause before slowly turning to face him. “My _what_?”

Kruber felt his cheeks flush, squeezing the bottle in his hand. “I-I-I mean. Your face. Without your mask.”

Kerillian had an alert, confused look. “And why would y’need to see that, exactly?”

Kruber shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of the truth behind his answer. “Uhm, curiosity, I s’pose. Maybe all your secrets are hidden under that thing.”

Her oil-black eyes scrutinized him carefully for a moment, then glimmered with mild amusement. “Been drinking, have we, Kruber?”

Kruber looked down, and placed the bottle of whiskey within her view, shrugging sheepishly.

“Mayfly and his booze,” she muttered.

“A nice vintage, too. Found it stashed up in the rafters there.”

“Don’t go drinking yourself into a stupor. We’ve work to do.”

“Oi, don’t nag me, alright?” he complained with a beleaguered sigh. “I get plenty enough’a that from me blessed employer.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Can’t blame a man for turning to the comfort of a bottle in these dark times. ‘Specially dark, as of late,” he persuaded, consciously keeping his tone at ease. “An’ besides, I do my best work when I’m a little intoxicated.”

She huffed softly. “If that’s true, then perhaps you’d better save it for later.”

Kruber brightened at her scant affirmation, feeling uncommonly seen. “D’you want some?” he asked, offering her the bottle.

Kerillian shook her head, attention diverted to her task. Kruber shrugged again, took a swig. He savoured the relief he found in the way it burned.

He came to notice that Kerillian had a new, modest bow propped up next to her quiver. Thinking it must have taken her a bit of time to craft, even for an asrai, he wondered how early she had left that morning. He caught himself staring again, and cut his eyes away to the bottle in his lap.

“Uh… so,” he began carefully, “About that mask…”

“Waystalkers do not remove their camouflage,” she told him with brusque finality. “It would be disrespectful, not to mention unsafe, to do so.”

Kruber sniffed. “Hm.”

“What’s that, disappointed?” she teased mirthlessly, gaze still fixed on the fire.

“Just thought, what’s the harm? It’s only the two of us here, maybe you’d be more comfortable without Bardin or ol’ one-eye around.”

“You say that as though you’re somehow different by comparison.”

“Well, I am the friendliest of our li’l bunch, wouldn’t you agree?” he appealed to her with a smile, and all the charisma he could muster.

“Nice try, Kruber. You’re not likely to see me without this mask anytime soon. Not unless I’m dead.”

He froze in his tracks at that. Her stark words reminded him of images waiting in the wings of his subconscious, ready to torment him. He shook it off. “Yeah, yeah. Wasn't expectin’ it, really,” he conceded with a sigh.

“Then leave it be.”

Kruber pondered for a long moment, and inspiring himself with newer, happier thoughts, spoke against his better judgment. “...Don't you take it off to bathe?”

Kerillian stuck him with a glare as sharp as daggers. “Kruber, this conversation is _over_.”

“Right. S-sorry.” 

He looked down at the ground between his feet, face flushed once more (definitely from the drink, he told himself). He felt like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and wasn’t really sure what to make of that. He didn’t even know why he was so curious, anyway.

“Goddess willing, this should shut you up,” Kerillian snipped, unfazed. She offered him the rabbit. “Eat.”

Kruber regarded it with mild disgust. “The poor thing is barely skin and bone. Supposed to just gnaw on it like a dog, am I?”

“Don’t see how that’s any different from before.”

“On second thought, think I’ll find me own breakfast,” Kruber grumped, eyeing his handgun.

“Good luck with that. The suffering of the Weave has not been kind to the creatures of this land. You’re not likely to find any game worth hunting.”

“Then why’d you bother to kill it?”

“To _end its suffering_.” She said it like a threat directed at herself. “And, because. You need to eat. Even if it’s not much,” she added with a tired sigh.

“Yeah, well, this one’s all yours,” Kruber waved it away. “Looks too much like a rat for my liking. I’m off to find me a nice plump hog.”

That got him a genuine laugh, to his surprise. “Aye, Kruber, the only one I’ve seen thus far is sitting right next to me.”

Kruber opened his mouth for a comeback, but his words were especially slow this morning as he sputtered, “Downright cheeky that was, and _mean_ —” 

Kerillian turned and nearly dropped the skewer into the fire as he blurted, “Oi! Don’t go wastin’ it!”

She blinked at him. “You don’t want it.”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I’ve already eaten.”

“...Wait,” Kruber squinted, disbelieving the only logical deduction. “You… caught this for me?”

“As I said, you need to eat,” she repeated, now exasperated.

The scent that wafted up to his nose from the skewer was appealing enough to make his mouth water. He thought for a moment. “It’s poison, innit?” he decided.

“If I wanted to kill you, Kruber…” she rolled her eyes.

“Right.” Kruber didn’t know how to respond, nor could he understand the sudden, peculiar warmth in his stomach (also the whiskey, certainly). “Well, appreciate the effort. Even if the result is… lackluster.”

“Not my fault. I took the best these woods had to offer.”

Kruber settled back down into his seat, and reached for the food. He looked her in the eye as she handed it to him and said, “Thank you, Kerillian.”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “No need to thank me. I’ve only done it to keep you from dying too soon.”

“Yeah, and that deserves my thanks, elf,” Kruber chuckled, finding her stubborn aloofness silly and almost juvenile, but now in a way that was also sort of charming.

He pushed the thought aside, feeling a bit delirious, and bit a strip off the rabbit. His eyes widened as he chewed.

“It’s seasoned! Blimey, that’s actually not bad.”

“Aye, be amazed that the elf can cook,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Tastes much better than it looks,” he granted, finding he was indeed ravenous, especially after the booze on an empty stomach.

Kerillian was silent for a while, looking off into the distance as he ate.

“I need a bit more rest,” she said as she stood. Kruber noticed she was now able to put weight on her injured leg. “I’ll be up there.” She motioned up at the rafters.

Kruber nodded, mostly preoccupied with his meal, but moreover, the idea that Kerillian _might_ actually care, at least enough to keep him alive for her own sake.

‘This is going to be an interesting day,’ he thought. 

He finished up, tossing the remains into the flames. His eyes came to rest on Kerillian’s new bow. He admired its perfect curvature from a distance, painstakingly hewn from what smelled like fresh heartwood.


	2. Chapter 2

They left the farm just as the sun’s light broke the treetops. Kerillian reveled silently in the beauty of the golden beams as they illuminated the mist and small droplets of dew, reminding her of the stars from the night before, only hopeful.

“Things always look nicer in the morning,” Kruber said, and Kerillian was mildly startled, as though he’d felt her thoughts.

“Aye,” she agreed softly.

Kruber took a deep breath of fresh air and stretched. “Let’s get to it.”

They found a main route after a short while, and within an hour had encountered a caravan of wary farmers who appeared to be carrying with them everything that they owned, battered and road-worn. 

Kruber hailed them alone. It was better not to frighten them further, he had told her. “Not... that you’re frightening. Well, you are, in a fight, I mean,” he quickly amended. “B-but—that’s besides the point. Just that you’re. Y’know, unusual. Least in these parts.”

Kerillian found his awkward social stumbling irritating, but tolerable, considering he was making an effort.

It was better up in the trees, anyway, she decided, more peaceful. Here, she had a good vantage point in case things did go sideways.

She could only make out parts of their conversation, but it sounded like they had fled after a large chaos regiment tore through their homestead. She watched as Kruber rubbed the back of his head, seemingly apologetic in that there wasn’t really any aid he could offer them, other than the promise to exact vengeance. He even managed to coerce two portions of water and food rations off of them, no doubt leaning on the authority of his uniform.

The homesteaders pointed off behind them, signalling to Kerillian that the regiment was likely headed in the same direction they were, another small stroke of luck. They could trail them to whatever location they were being called to reinforce, which, if her suspicions were correct, meant that the rest of the group must be held captive there, if they were indeed still alive.

It wasn’t hard to find evidence of where the northmen had passed. They left a scorched wake of fetid death and destruction, a grim but unmistakable imprint that was easily tracked.

The trail wore on them as they progressed, slowly draining on what little optimism they had left. Kruber was always especially disturbed by the horrific scenes they came across, helpless animals tortured and butchered, corpses and bits and pieces of bodies hanging from trees, a child with their entrails strung up along a fence. Kerillian could sense his sorrow, and he became increasingly quiet, perhaps not wanting to provoke a less-than-sensitive comment, or needing the internal pause to process what he was witnessing.

Kerillian had no intention of lessening the monstrosity of the situation at hand. She was mystified to find herself feeling pity for the innocent people and animals whose lives had been lost in such an awful manner, the wanton destruction and disrespect for nature, but also for the toll it was taking on her ally.

She decided to try and help Kruber get his mind off it, direct the pain and rage to more constructive avenues. Such as revenge, an art in which she was well-practiced.

“There was a name the vermin spoke of yesterday, was there not?” she said to him, once they had found a relatively peaceful patch of terrain to cross. 

“Think so,” came Kruber’s rather morose response.

“I believe I know who they were referring to.”

Kruber glanced at her. “Yeah? Who, or what, I should say?”

“Scunner sorcerer, responsible for the disruption we picked up on. More powerful than any of the ones we’ve encountered,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’ll admit… I underestimated him, and he caught me by surprise.”

Kruber huffed a laugh. “Never thought I’d hear you own up to something like _that_.”

“Well, it’s what happened, I can’t change it now,” she flashed. “That dark wind that blew past us as we were hiding. You felt that?”

“Yeh, like the touch of the grave. Not too pleasant.”

“Aye,” she replied solemnly. “That was his spell. That’s what he’s capable of. That’s how I…”

“Ended up embarrassin’ yourself?”

“Ugh! Enough. I’m trying to explain to you what happened yesterday, since you asked.”

Kruber hesitated a moment. “You’re right. Go on.”

Kerillian shook her head. “I don’t know the true purpose of the spell, other than to capture us. But from what I experienced… I believe it was meant to make us all into a sacrifice. Perhaps as a way to bless their army with power from their dark gods.”

“How’s that?” Kruber asked with an edge of uneasiness, as though he were hearing some particularly chilling ghost story.

“I think they’re trying to finish what they started after the fall of Ubersreik.”

“We escaped then. We can bloody well do it again. Hell, two of us are already on the loose. This’ll be cake, once we get in there and free the rest.”

“Yes, but that spell…” Kerillian felt a familiar shiver, and pushed her intruding memory of the Mirai to the edges of her consciousness, as far as it would go.

“Say, that’s a question, innit? Where’s Olesya been this whole time?”

“I was wondering the same thing myself. Perhaps her magic is also being suppressed by this… entity,” Kerillian finished, not willing to risk speaking its name aloud.

“Suppose so.”

They continued on for the remainder of the afternoon, mostly in silence, and by nightfall had reached a tall ridge opposing a small mountain with an abandoned keep near its zenith. From that point overlooking the valley in between, Kerillian could see the flames from the regiment’s torches amidst the trees. 

“There,” she pointed, tapping Kruber on the arm.

“I see ‘em, elf. I’m not quite blind,” he chaffed mildly.

By the time they reached the bottom, cautious to avoid any open ground, their quarry had moved toward the keep. It was situated about half-way up the small bluff, seemingly carved from the stone of the earth itself. It was then that they noticed that it was not abandoned at all, but showed signs of recent longer-term occupation.

“That’s Gunmer’s Rest, if I reckon,” Kruber told her. “Haunted. Been empty for ages. Looks like that’s where they’ve taken up shop.”

“This is where the others are being held,” she told him.

He looked over at her in surprised disbelief. “You sure about that, elf?”

“Pretty well. Do you not see how close we are to where we were yesterday?”

“I mean, it feels familiar, but it sure don’t smell as bad…”

“No, we’re up wind from the trap. Or, altar, perhaps I should call it.”

“Are you referrin' to the purple fog? That unnatural clearing in the woods that had no business bein’ there?”

“Yes, precisely.”

Kruber nodded. “Yeah, this is starting to make some sense, if what all you're saying is true. But that also means they’ll be waiting for us.”

“We’ll need to outsmart them, which won’t be difficult.”

Kerillian’s leg was on its way to being healed, but the long journey on foot over both days had left her taxed and sore. She was still in no shape for a fight, not just yet. 

“We need to set up camp here. No fire this time,” she said, to which Kruber reluctantly agreed.

They found a well-sheltered area of the woods that still held some warmth from the day. The sky was clear again, and it was going to get cold without a source of heat.

They finished off the rations from the caravan. Kruber had brandished the bottle of whiskey, and offered it out to her. “For warmth,” he said.

Kerillian almost declined, but acknowledging the heightened duress she was under, instead reached her hand out and took the bottle with a nod. It was now less than half full, and she realized the weight behind the gesture then, knowing how much Kruber relied on this to get him through most days.

“You have manners, Kruber,” she teased.

“Ladies first,” he shrugged.

Kerillian took one large mouthful and almost gagged at the revolting flavour scalding down her throat. She coughed and let out a small burp. “That… is awful,” she croaked. “How can you drink it without vomiting?”

Kruber took the whiskey back, smug. “Fortitude, and practice.” 

He downed three swallows in quick succession, making Kerillian balk. “Ahh,” he wheezed. “Sure feels good to know somethin’ an elf don’t.” He smiled as he closed his eyes, comforted.

“Not sure being able to drink that mayfly swill like it’s water is something to be proud of,” she raised her eyebrows at him, feeling the beginnings of a somewhat familiar glow in her stomach.

“It’s something,” Kruber kicked back with his legs crossed, arms folded behind his head against a log, effortless.

Kerillian felt a strange twinge in her stomach at the sight, something close to perhaps envy. After the day they’d had, she marveled for the first time at his ability to simply discard his trauma at the bottom of a bottle. It wasn’t healthy, to be sure. But in this state, he wasn’t suffering, which was more than she could say for herself.

“Give me another,” she said suddenly, reaching for the bottle with a grabbing hand.

Kruber blinked in surprise, handing it back over. “Don’t go too hard on the stuff. You're not accustomed to it, and I need to save some for tomorrow, remember.”

"Accustomed? Pah. You've never even had the luxury of trying the elven kind." She took a large mouthful, cringing as it went down, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “Ach,” she spat. “This is nothing like ale.”

“That’s the trick. You’ll get the hang of it,” Kruber said, absently twirling at the tip of his mustache. “Once you do you’ll find it’s better’n ale.”

“I have no intentions of making a habit out of this, thank you, Kruber.”

“Aw, an’ here I was thinkin’ I’d just found meself a new drinkin' buddy.”

He made a mock-sad face, which Kerillian at first found totally convincing. The spirits worked quickly, numbness already in the tips of her fingers, contrasted by the bolstering heat in her solar plexus. It relaxed her body and her mind, drawing her focus to the present moment, all troubles distant by comparison, except for the one directly in front of her. 

She was stubbornly fascinated by the ease with which Kruber was able to, well, be at ease. Kerillian had no problems being severe, domineering, or cruel, even. That side of her personality was well-established, even before she had the misfortune of being lumped in with these fools. It was a rut dug so deeply out of necessity that it took great effort to pull herself up onto the high road. 

Kerillian imagined that Kruber may have ended up the same, or worse, without this crutch to lean on. She had lived through relative eons of the suffering she’d seen him endure, and the only route through was to harden herself until she could no longer be damaged. 

But the sudden quandary, she realized, was that he was _better_ at it than she was. He was able to avert the pain which seemed to affect him so relentlessly with surprising self-sufficiency. In a flash of awareness, she thought that perhaps humans seemed so weak and fragile in her eyes because she assumed they simply hadn’t the time to build up the necessary resilience. But here was Kruber, a walking contradiction to her long-established worldview.

There was a reason they had all been brought together, this band of misfits. They were cut from the same cloth. To her utter disdain and indignation, she recognized that she indeed _belonged_ here with them, for better or worse. 

Kerillian groaned to herself, once again mourning her fate, and the dormant knowledge the alcohol had freed from her subconscious.

She was startled from her reverie by Kruber’s snoring. In what felt like competitive defiance, she quickly collected some leaves into a haphazard pile and nestled into them, flinging her cloak over herself. She wasn’t the only one who could still sleep at night.

-

Kruber woke a few hours later to nothing but darkness. He was freezing, his head was pounding, and he badly needed to piss. He could hardly see, fumbling for purchase against the log on which he’d slept, griping under his breath about the whole situation he was in. He cursed the skaven, the northmen, the cold, and the elf.

He realized as he got to his feet that perhaps he shouldn’t blame her so harshly for what had happened. If she was correct, then her actions might have actually saved them by some serendipitous reversal of fortune. That still did nothing to alleviate their predicament, nor the chill in the air as he rubbed at his arms, shivering. 

He was still drunk, making him unsteady on his feet, and he stumbled and crashed his way through the bush to get himself a bit of privacy.

His bladder was half empty when he was interrupted by the rumbling of voices and footsteps somewhere nearby. Turning, he saw torchlight glancing off the dampened bark, and the figures of a half-dozen or so rotbloods coming straight toward him, searching. 

He was almost bowled over by a rush of panic. “Fuck,” he said sharply under his breath, hurriedly doing up his trousers while he tried to duck behind a tree. He cursed his own clumsiness.

He scrambled back to their camp to find that only Kerillian’s empty bed of sunken leaves remained. He swore again through his teeth. Of all the times to disappear. He wasn’t expecting it, but still thought that he shouldn’t have been surprised.

He looked around frantically for somewhere suitable to hide. The closer they got, the more of them he could count.

They had camped only a few yards away from the ridge. Under the dim moonlight near the edge of the forest he was able to spot a thin split in the rock face, and it appeared to be just big enough for him to squeeze into.

He swiftly reached the crevice, stabilized by adrenaline, and checked to make sure he hadn’t been seen, then leaned to peer inside. An arm suddenly shot out of the darkness, grasping him by the collar.

-

Kerillian was able to narrowly maneuver Kruber into the gap next to her. He made a startled noise and stumbled sideways, shoulder thumping against stone, momentarily disoriented. The space opened out slightly towards the back, making it just wide enough for both of them, though they were nearly nose to nose.

“Don't. Make. A sound.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Kerillian!” Kruber gasped, skittish but relieved.

She clapped her hand tightly over his mouth, hissing furiously.

She listened carefully to the rotblood patrol as they rummaged around the meagre remains of their camp. At least one chaos warrior was leading them. There was a loud command to search the area, and the light from their torches began to dance closer. Kerillian gently let go of Kruber’s collar, reaching down to touch the bow pinned between her knees.

They were cornered. If they were found now, they would very likely be dead.

The Mirai flashed before her eyes in the murk. She couldn’t resist the feeling of terror as it wormed through her nerves, making her hands tremble.

For the life of her, Kerillian couldn’t understand why she was suddenly compelled to focus her attention on Kruber just then. Light was scarce, but she was able to make out the lines of his weathered features as he closed his eyes, still trying to catch his breath. This was a face she had come to know, and she felt endeared to its ranges of ferocity and humour, suffering and hope, as if she was finally seeing him clearly for the first time. He was familiar, and he was safe.

Her hand was still covering his mouth, she realized with a dull sort of embarrassment. She felt the vivid warmth of his breath beneath her fingers, soft but rapid. His beard was not as rough as she would have expected, which alerted her to the fact that maybe she thought about this kind of thing from time to time. Her tension began to ease as she instinctively dialed in on the sensation of physical contact, aware of all the small places where they were connected, and of the greater places where they weren't, feeling drawn in like a magnet.

A branch snapped nearby and Kerillian jumped, doubly bewildered by her own behaviour. She felt abashed, and found herself worrying about what Kruber might be thinking, carefully removing her hand. He huffed lightly as she did so, making a nearly inaudible noise deep in his throat, and Kerillian felt a sudden tug low in her abdomen, something sharp like a hook, activating a rich, insistent heat that bled into her skin like an electric current.

One torch was now close enough to provide a gentle glow, alarming and comforting all at once, reflecting how Kerillian currently was on the inside. She watched as firelight flickered across Kruber’s scars, and her mind betrayed her with thoughts of what it might feel like if she were to touch them, of her fingernails digging into his skin. He finally opened his eyes and gazed back at her, blue and almost serene but for the underlying trepidation. She was startled again as she felt another jolt drop straight from her chest and through her stomach, and she couldn’t interpret the mixed signals her brain and body were sending, panic and arousal sloshing back and forth within her like water and oil. She withheld her breath for what seemed like ages, barely hanging on, blood flowing thick and harsh in her veins.

The reek of the patrol slowly diminished, light retreating as they moved on, shambling further into the forest.

Kerillian slowly began to relax, but barely. There was still a lead weight in her chest, and she felt charged, volatile. She blamed the drink for clouding her mind and putting this damnable fire in her body. She hardly recognized herself lately for all of these foreign thoughts and feelings. Her pulse was fluttering with more than just fear, and she could never have anticipated something like this.

She steeled herself and leaned to peek around the corner, ensuring the patrol had indeed passed them by. The coast was clear. She was itching to do _something_ , and her mind told her the best thing was to just get out of there as fast as she could, away from the source of… whatever this was. So she did.

"Sorry. That was my bad," Kruber mumbled from the darkness.

“I expected no better,” she said with an acerbic edge that was also somehow flimsy and hollow. “However... it seems they were expecting us. They must have seen us coming down the ridge earlier. Or… we were detected by other means.”

She did not wait for Kruber before she began to move back the way they came, having seen a bend at the edge of the valley that would put some distance and cover between them and the keep.

She heard footsteps hurriedly catching up to her. “...Hey, be careful. We need to stick together.”

Kerillian could not answer, still trying desperately to figure out what was happening to her, why the world felt like it kept spinning out of her control.

“I know you think you can take care of yourself—” Kruber began.

“That’s because I can,” Kerillian snapped, quick as her blade. “The last thing I need is a lumberfoot like you trying to look after me. That’s idiotic enough in itself.”

“I’d say recent events prove otherwise,” Kruber pointed out, more like a friendly reminder.

Kerillian scowled bitterly. “You’re starting to sound like Saltzpyre. I don’t need you, or your help.”

“Well that’s a bloody crock,” Kruber almost laughed. “If that’s true, why are you even risking your life to rescue us lot?”

Kerillian rounded on him. “You want to know if I care about what happens to you?” she said, seething derision in her voice. “Someone who leaves you for dead to save themselves, like I just did back there? Don’t be naive, Kruber.”

“Oh? Is that what happened?” he countered casually.

“You just happened to get close to where I was hiding.” She sounded adamant as she briskly turned and continued on.

Kruber was silent for a few moments, doing the math with his intuition. “You didn't leave me for dead. You were here, watching,” he told her. “It's what you do. Y’see, I know you, Kerillian. You don’t seem to realize—”

Kerillian turned on him again, hackles raised like an angry cat who had just fallen into the bathwater. “Do not _ever_ presume to know me. You don’t. And you will not, not ever.” 

She continued to march away, fuming, and Kruber continued to follow, unperturbed. “Think I’m starting to,” he said, almost too quiet for her to hear. “Look, Kerillian, after everything we've been through—”

“ _Gods_ , you mayflies are _pathetic_. Just listen to yourself. No wonder you're so weak, babbling on like some mopey, sentimental half-wit when there are chaos patrols afoot.” Kerillian was shrill and over-reactive as she railed on him, feeling caught out, frantic at her lack of self-comprehension, and unsure of how much he knew, how much he was aware of. Misdirection felt like the safest strategy.

“You think _I'm_ weak?” Kruber gave an incredulous laugh.

“Certainly,” she confirmed, deadpan. 

“Taal’s teeth, you’re crotchety tonight,” he grumbled. “Right, well, at least I can admit my own feelin’s. And my vulnerabilities.”

Dread rolled over in her stomach. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

“You know damn well what it means,” Kruber replied almost cheerfully.

Kerillian paused, shaken, but managed to remain stoic, hoping he had no idea how close he actually was to the truth. “Sorry, Kruber. I don't have feelings, nor vulnerabilities. I thought that much should have been obvious by now.”

“Well, _I’m_ sorry, Kerillian, but I seem to recall it was _you_ who walked head-first into that trap, what ended up bein’ the whole reason we’re in this mess to begin with, mind.” Kruber spoke very matter-of-factly, which indicated to Kerillian that he felt like he had the upper hand.

“I was only trying to get away from you!” she snarled, desperate.

“Loathing also counts as a feeling,” Kruber called after her. “Just sayin’.”

-

They circled closely around the far edge of the ridge and crossed a swift, shallow creek. At the bottom of a grassy hill there was a dense series of alder stands, too thick to pass through easily. It was a decent spot for laying low, and it was there that Kerillian stopped trying to flee. She paced within the secluded grove, seemingly unsure of what to do with herself.

“Why are you so reckless sometimes, acting like you’re nigh untouchable?” Kruber prodded insistently.

“Because I am.”

“You’re not, even if you are immortal,” he reminded her. “You must know that.”

Kerillian shook her head, irascible. “As I said before, you were getting on my nerves. I can’t do what’s required of me when I’m surrounded by the likes of you sorry mayflies.”

“And look what happens when we’re not there!” Kruber tried to dampen his exclamation, but he was already too worked up, the panic and the half-drunk and that split second when the touch of her hand made it feel like he might jump out of his own skin.

“Quiet, Kruber! Do you want them to find us here as well?” Kerillian admonished.

Kruber felt frustration rising hot up his neck and in his ears. He was still reeling from what had happened earlier, mind muddled and riding a body high he couldn’t shake.

“I thought you knew the only way we’re gonna get through this is if we _work together_.”

Kerillian folded her arms, turning away from him. "I don't need you."

“You sound more like you’re tryin’a convince yourself,” Kruber scoffed, getting the feeling there was more to this than she was letting on. “Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Why can't you just leave me alone?” she snapped, a frenetic wariness in her that was almost pleading.

“I won’t. This seems to be the whole reason for your sodden attitude, and I’m not gonna let your arrogant arse run amok and sabotage this,” Kruber told her, saying exactly what he meant.

He was starting to figure her out, and he wasn’t about to let her get away with it this time. He felt smart, and he was exhilarated, like he had nearly discovered the answer to a mystery he had been chasing for quite some time. Perhaps he had been.

When Kerillian finally spoke, her voice was overtaken by a tone of resignation. “If you’d just left me to die in that trap like you should have, you might have been better off. I've made enough mistakes.”

Kruber was struck. He finally understood, with glaring clarity, that her harshness was more for herself than it was for anyone else. His mind wheeled with the implications, all of the things she'd ever done or said cast in a completely different light. He stood there for a moment with his brow furrowed, unsure of how to react. Then he began to approach her, slow and cautious, as he would a spooked horse.

"Yeh, maybe so," he admitted quietly. "But I didn't."

Kerillian had her arms wrapped around herself, motionless. She wouldn't face him, so Kruber carefully stepped around her, bowing his head in towards hers in an attempt to really see her. 

Subtle moonlight illuminated her distraught expression, and he was taken aback by the ferocity of her contempt, most of it directed inward. 

'This what she was always trying to hide?' Kruber wondered, and he found his perspective had changed completely, possessing a depth of empathy for the familiar reflection on her face.

"Whatever mistakes you've made," he began gently, tentatively. "It don't matter, Kerillian. What matters is you’re here now, trying to make amends."

Her intensity abated somewhat, and she finally met his eyes. Kruber was relieved to find a sort of hopefulness there, almost a question, like she was asking for permission, or perhaps forgiveness. Her defenses mostly relinquished, he could see her for what she really was—worn, terrified, and mired in self-hatred, just like him. There was something completely disarming in the way she was finally willing to reveal herself to him, and Kruber felt a tenderness for her that he hadn't realized even existed.

He reached his hand out, hovering uncertainly, wary at first not to frighten her off. He wasn't even sure what to do with it, he just needed her to know somehow that things didn't need to be this way, she didn't need to suffer her own condemnation alone. He wanted to soothe her, and even that felt like it would have been a battle, except that Kruber could see the indomitable elf had already surrendered. 

She let his palm come to rest on the side of her face. Kruber kept giving in to these impulses, ones that would normally be ill-considered, things he knew he shouldn't do, but she was different right now, unlocked somehow and disengaged, and he felt like this might be his only window of opportunity. He ran his thumb along the edge of her mask, and Kerillian exhaled softly. Kruber felt his pulse quicken.

Kerillian’s skin gleamed beneath the sky's silver glow, accentuating the midnight of her eyes. She was so close. "By the moons, you're beautiful," Kruber whispered, mesmerized.

Kerillian blinked slowly, precariously, as if measuring her own reaction. Then something broke in her countenance. She abruptly lifted her hand, hooking two fingers in her mask. Kruber’s eyes widened in awe as she swiftly tugged it away and lunged at him, pressing her mouth firmly against his.

The kiss was certainly not lacking for passion nor intent, to his surprise. She felt like a hot stone as she nipped and licked across his lower lip, and Kruber could only groan at the wash of sensation, nerves kindled. Her tongue slicked into his mouth as she began to push, and Kruber stumbled backward through the fallen leaves, collapsing helplessly beneath her.

Kerillian bore down on him like a storm, straddling his lap, assaulting him with her mouth in a completely new way. She barely relented, and Kruber was already struggling to get enough air, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a war drum, frantic and confused. He broke away in a gasp as he felt her hands clawing at the laces of his trousers, staggering heat coiling at the base of his spine. This was all happening far too quickly for him to grasp.

She leaned back, eyes fixed with blazing intensity on the task at hand, almost trance-like. Halfway done, she began to untie her own britches when Kruber reached out to weakly cup her hands in his. Kerillian slowed, finally making eye contact. Kruber gave her a desperate, meaningful look, not fully able to interpret or absorb what this was or what it meant, studying her face for some sort of clue.

Kerillian returned his gaze, chest heaving shakily. Kruber wasn't really thinking anymore as he carefully reached up with one hand, tracing the line of her mouth with his fingertips, breathless to behold the creature before him. Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily. Then she revved, continuing her offensive, angling down to kiss him with increased fervour. 

She ground her hips against his, impatient, and Kruber moaned involuntarily at the electric friction. Her hand laid across his mouth earlier had already been enough to turn him on, and this was almost too much for his frayed nerves, overwhelmed by the long-absent sensation of physical pleasure. Then he felt her fingers snaking down the front of his trousers, and he nearly lost it right there.

Kruber sucked in a breath, trying to slow the train before it got away from him, focusing on the patches of night sky he could see through the forest canopy. He screwed his eyes shut, holding his lungs full as he felt a devastating hand wrap around his manhood. He couldn't help another low growling moan as Kerillian slid him inside herself with a hoarse gasp.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, but it was mostly out of his control, anyway. She began to ride him hard, seemingly close already herself, gushing wet and panting as she threw her head back, neck glistening with sweat. Kruber’s fingers had been dug into the dirt for traction, and he laid them on her upper thighs, trying to guide her hips to a slower waltz. It was a wasted effort as his hands instinctively grasped her ample rear instead, only serving to heighten his lust.

It wasn’t much longer before Kruber felt the sparks coalescing low in his core become a wave big enough to overtake him. He had a vague, brief sense of fragmentation as he came, a hot white light blotting out his consciousness for a few seconds at the crest. His head spun as he rode it out, feeling Kerillian thrust herself upon him a few more times before following him over the edge. For a little while he was drowning blithely in the rhythmic pulsing of her sleek heat, listening to her deep whimpering cries as her hips bucked with aftershock.

All in all, it had taken only a few minutes. Kruber laid there, overcome as if he’d been hit by a hurricane, trying to regain his breath along with his grip on reality. Kerillian was sprawled atop him in a similar state, shaking. Kruber automatically wrapped an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to keep her warm, and realized that she wasn’t at all cold. The gesture seemed to bring her back into her body as she looked up at him, slowly infusing with awareness.

She quickly climbed off of him, staring at him in disbelief, like she couldn’t understand what she’d just instigated, or why. Kruber stared back, helpless and equally confounded, and still breathless. Kerillian looked like she was about to bolt. He thought distantly that if she wasn’t going to say something, then perhaps he should.

“Well... um.” Kruber cleared his throat. “That was, er—”

“A _freak accident_.” Kerillian finished, thoroughly discombobulated. She scrambled to her feet, fumbling in an attempt to readjust her disheveled appearance.

“Well, I was... going to say fun.”

“Never going to happen again,” she muttered, face flushed completely pink. She turned around to clean herself up and re-lace her britches.

Kruber quirked an eyebrow at her. “...If you say so.”

“Don't test me, Kruber. I say what I mean.” The familiar edge of contention had returned.

“Sure.” Kruber couldn't take his eyes off her, absolutely fascinated. 

There was so much he knew now, leading to only more questions in his mind. He thought about the feeling of his hands on her warm thighs, her pale gleaming neck, the curve of her lips, and her latent self-destructiveness, all branded into his memory like a keepsake.

"What is it about you...?" he posed to no one in particular, still at a loss. "You... you really get to me, do you know that?"

Kerillian turned to look at him over her shoulder, uncomfortable, and even from there he could see her cheeks flush all over again as she replaced her mask.

"It’s my charming personality, I'm sure."

"Charming?" Kruber laughed, then seriously considered the idea. "…Well, maybe. When you want to be."

"I'm not interested, Kruber. Like I said, it's not happening again."

Her walls were back up. Kruber continued to drink in the sight of her, eyes roaming over her form, sighing quietly to himself. "Hm."

Kerillian suddenly began making her way out of the grove, back the way they came, and Kruber shot up to lean on his elbows. "Oi, where are you—"

"I need to… I’m going to make sure we weren't followed. Stay put," she told him, still flighty and uneasy.

"A-all right," Kruber replied as he watched her stalk off into the woods.

He looked down at himself. His trousers were still undone, the air was cold, and he was a mess. He slowly laid back down against the crushed leaves, releasing a long, slow exhale, trying desperately to let it all sink in. He wasn't even going to try and figure out the "why" right now. He felt strangely bereft, even with the hazy afterglow satiating his nerves. 

He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose while he drew another sigh, wondering what else the gods had in store for him after this. What had transpired felt nearly impossible, but here he was. 

"Bloody hell."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I bring you chapter three! I had heavily considered reworking major parts of the last chapter, since this story was supposed to be a lot shorter, and well, you know how things go. I'm normally one to drag things out for maximum effect, but then I decided to just let this be the indulgent thing that it is. The next chapter is gonna be a doozy. I hope you like!
> 
> Also, being a _complete_ nerd, I thought I'd share the playlist I made for inspiration, if anyone's interested: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/24gectKeImBpS8ayV0aTA5

Kerillian didn’t really know where she was going. Her mind was racing faster than her heart, and she felt like maybe if she kept moving, she could outrun it. Throughout her long life, there had only been a rare few occasions where she’d completely lost control. This was one of them.

She was scolding herself, distractedly pacing while she checked that the woods were still empty of any potential threats. There remained a heated glow deep in her core, an ember, and she tried to ignore it. The further she could distance herself from the feelings that made her do what she did, the better.

That was the real caveat. She knew what the components were that equaled the outcome, mostly humiliating things like impulse and comfort and longing and desire, but she couldn’t possibly know the reason for their existence. It felt intrinsic, like the potential was always there, she just hadn’t realized, as she was discovering was the case with many things.

She thought about Kruber, mortified, having given herself over in almost every possible way, but that wasn’t what scared her most.

He had seen her weakness. This whole time, she had managed to keep it concealed from the others, but something about the way Kruber seemed so patient with her, so unconditional, it broke her. It was a kind of acceptance she could never give herself, and he had offered it to her freely.

Kerillian was lost as to what to do next. She couldn’t just go back there and pretend like nothing had happened. Kruber would likely want answers, as he was entitled to, but she did not possess them. Even she couldn’t predict her own behaviour when she felt blown wide open like that. What else might he have witnessed in her besides weakness?

A sudden dark cloud came over her thoughts, leaving her at a standstill. What would happen if Kruber somehow found out why she was really here? Would he tell the others? Would she be exiled, even from this?

There was an even harder kernel at the centre of her fear which she had to dig at to find. What if he was never able to look at her in that gentle way ever again?

It felt too risky. She couldn’t trust herself around him anymore, not after this. He was a catalyst, and she was highly unstable and reactive in his presence, becoming more susceptible the more she spent time around him, and him alone.

She was nauseous with foreboding, thinking she couldn’t have fucked up this badly and still hope to get away without consequences. It spiraled beyond her immediate situation, and she suddenly felt like she was wasting valuable time, eschewing the discipline that she normally expected of herself. Three of their five were still missing, and they would have been aghast to know what she and Kruber had been doing that night instead of trying to save them.

She knew she wasn’t really thinking logically, shifting between states of fight, flight, and freeze, but she had to decide on a course of action. In her rattled mind, the only appropriate option was the one that didn’t involve Kruber. She reasoned that they needed to gather intelligence if they were going to make a rescue attempt, anyway, and that was something best accomplished with stealth. It would be easier if she went now, alone, and skipped the opportunity for Kruber to argue.

She immediately began to head straight for the fort, grateful to have found a new fixation. Her leg was still sore, and she felt overtired by this point, but she was also caught in a fugue of mania, numb to all common sense. She decided her new idea was perfectly sound, as long as she didn’t get caught. The patrols all carried torches, and it was easy for her to take the route that left her unseen.

The way the fort was built made it difficult for any army to encroach, but easy for someone with climbing prowess to infiltrate. There was one narrow bridge leading to the main gate above a large ravine carved out of the mountainside, and she could make a sheltered ascent from beneath. The keep was sculpted out of large stone bricks, but also out of the mountain itself, and she discovered that there were even old worn paths crisscrossing at the base, likely used as secret means of escape or entry. They were unmanned, and all she had to do was follow one.

Kerillian climbed, disregarding the dull pain in her leg, until the incline became so steep as to become upright, and then she needed to be more methodical. It was an effective distraction for her, as long as she didn’t let her mind wander.

She could sense a dark energy emanating from the stone itself as she got close to the tower’s foundation, and was hesitant to touch it, a chill quaking through her very essence. As she pressed on upward, she found small bricks jutting out of the vast masonry, hand hafts for just such a purpose.

She reached the top without incident, finding an unguarded portcullis which looked like it led directly to the dungeon. She couldn’t gain access, but there were several small hollow casements dotting that side of the tower, one for each cell. The moon cast a triangular shadow along the wall wide enough for her to use as cover.

She began checking each one, but the torchlight was too sparse to determine if there was anyone held captive. There was a familiar stench in the air, and Kerillian ignored a nagging uneasiness as she continued.

She squinted when she got to the final barred cubbyhole, frustrated that she had not yet found the answers she felt so sure to receive. Then the wind seemed to abruptly settle, her surroundings becoming eerily quiet.

She shot up in alarm. She recognized this presence.

A voice came into her head unbidden, a high, thin voice almost like glass, but warped.

‘Waystalker,’ it wheezed. ‘What brings you here, all alone once again?’

Kerillian froze, hairs prickling all over her body.

‘Where is your companion?’ The voice felt like nails on slate inside her head, ragged, grating and cold. ‘How are you planning to get away this time without him here to save you?’

‘Do not attempt to toy with me, scunner miscreant,’ she thought, sickened to wonder if it would be heard.

‘Oh, but I already have, and I am. It is indeed too easy,’ came the somewhat indifferent response. ‘I have remained one step ahead of you at all times, you see.’

‘You’ve obviously failed to realize who you’re really dealing with. Where are the others?’ Kerillian demanded.

The voice laughed. ‘They are not here. And you were so sure of yourself, weren’t you?’

Kerillian felt her blood run cold. ‘Then why are _you_ here?’

‘I know what torments you, waystalker. You hold much pain,’ the voice continued, chortling. ‘You are pained even in your pursuit of pleasure. I see _all_.’

Kerillian couldn’t breathe. She felt violated, the insight a grievous intrusion of her closely guarded heart.

‘Tell me where they are,’ she ordered again, fingernails digging into her palms.

‘There is no need for that. You cannot save them, no matter what you do. As you fear, it will be you who is responsible for your downfall, as well as theirs.’

Kerillian felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes, anger and dismay rising hot like bile in her throat.

‘I will make sure you are the last to be sacrificed. That way, you can watch as the life leaves his eyes,’ the voice told her, delighted in her misery. ‘And know that it was all your fault.’

It took every ounce of her strength not to scream with rage. ‘I will allow no such thing. You will tell me where the rest are, despicable scourge, and I will see you slain by my own hand.’

‘Do you still not understand, little elf? In your efforts to do well for yourself, you often achieve the opposite,’ the voice dragged monotonously. ‘And often at the expense of others.’

Kerillian shook her head furiously, trembling, waves of guilt-ridden memories crashing against the barrier of her mind.

‘It is only a matter of time before he comes looking for you. By then, it will be too late.’

She suddenly felt a familiar resonance in the surrounding stone, and she was hit with every sense of warning her body could send. She saw the tops of large evergreens immediately on her horizon, reaching almost to the level of the platform she was on, and she had no time to think, she could only hope for the best as she sprinted with as much speed as her form would allow, flinging herself into them.

She cracked through soft, spindly branches and needles, tumbling feebly until a few larger ones broke under her, slowing her fall, and she was finally able to reach out and catch one before she hit the ground.

She could hear the rushing roar of the rotblood army above as she quickly clambered and dropped down to the forest floor. Her bow was there along with a handful of remaining arrows, and she grasped them before springing to her feet, in full survival mode as she retreated faster than she thought she even could.

-

Kruber was sitting at the base of a tree, arms crossed and head bowed, waiting.

He had a bad feeling about all this, understandably. He tried to make productive use of the agonizing idleness by resting, and found it fruitless. He had gotten up numerous times, treading in dwindling circles, kicking half-heartedly at leaves and shrubs and various things, debating whether he should go look for her. Then he got self-conscious, feeling like he was being overbearing, and sat back down, only to rise again a few minutes later.

He’d set one rule for himself to try and stop from going mad: Don’t think about what happened.

It was a constant battle. Every winding path led back to the one he was trying to avoid. He would pick up a leaf and imagine the life of a tree, or make shapes with the clusters of stars in the sky, or try to think of nothing at all. Then, once he had found some frail state of peace, he was blindsided by lucid, striking imagery, enlivening him in a way that was too tempting, bits and pieces snagging in his mind each time as he struggled not to occupy them. He felt almost feverish, his hands perpetually clammy and unsteady.

The real tragedy would have been that the whiskey was long gone, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to finish off the bottle. But that was now surpassed by the fact that he would likely be haunted by this to the end of his days, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was still a fire in him burning hotter than any liquor could ignite, and these thoughts were flashes of fuel.

He pressed the palms of his hands against his eye sockets. As if he needed more demons for his retinue.

He hadn't even wanted this. At least, he tried to believe that he hadn't, not presently. It was easier that way, but he knew he was lying if he tried to tell himself the thought had never crossed his mind. More than a few times.

It was something Kruber feared he'd let slip one night if he was really, truly drunk, and at worst he thought it would've made him the butt of the group’s judgment and ridicule for days to come. He had been close a few times, and it was always some reminder of the elf's ever frigid disposition that prevented it. As Bardin had once said, he had no chance.

But then, things changed. Kerillian had been the one to let something slip. He’d watched her thaw before his very eyes, before he even got his hands on her, and he was slightly more interested in the mechanism behind that. He only wished he knew exactly what he did to make it happen. It wasn't just sympathy, because that had never worked before.

Kruber spent close to two hours trying to purge his mind before Kerillian finally returned, and he was at first alarmed that he'd only heard her footsteps once she was within a few metres of where he sat. Despite his jittery hypervigilance, he still intuitively knew it was her.

“What bloody took you so long?” he demanded, restless and vexed by the turmoil she'd afflicted him with. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact he’d been left for that long to wonder about such a torturous thing, or how elated he felt to be near her again.

Kerillian was vacant. There were damp streaks near her reddened eyes, and Kruber felt it like a suckerpunch, immediately softening.

“Kerillian... What happened?”

“Nothing." She bit out the word as if it were poison. At least she was acknowledging him, even if she wouldn't look at him. At least she had even returned at all.

Kruber waited expectantly for an elaboration, and she huffed in acquiescence.

"I trailed a patrol for a while. They came close, but not close enough,” she told him, sounding low and raw. “We need to keep moving.”

Kruber couldn’t explain it, but he knew she wasn’t telling the truth.

“What, now? I thought you just said—”

“They could still find us if we rest here.” She glanced up the hill behind him. “We need to put some more distance between us and them.”

“Hold on a damn minute. How much distance? Aren’t we fixin’ to get into that fort later?”

Kerillian looked ragged and deflated, as if even she had barely the vitality for what she was suggesting. “We should’ve just stuck to the original plan. Who knows if they’re even in there. If they aren’t, and we get caught, that’s it. We’re finished.”

“You mean to head back to that clearing, the altar thing?” Kruber asked, puzzled at the sudden turnabout.

“Yes.”

“Right this moment?”

“Yes,” she sneered, always having enough left in her to still be quarrelsome.

Kruber breathed deeply with a slow, thoughtful stroke of his beard, weighing the proposition. “Kerillian, it’s… nearing dawn, don’t you think we could catch up on some sleep? I’m feeling bloody knackered.” He wisely kept a comment about her role in that to himself.

“Not here.”

Kruber watched as Kerillian’s frame shook ever so slightly, her eyes darting, landing on anything but him.

“You’re not telling me what’s really going on,” he said. “Something’s got you spooked. Why can’t we stay here?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable, all right?” she flashed.

“Fine. But we do need to rest at some point. You could use it, too. You look like death warmed up.”

She nodded, edgy and distant and unfocused. Kruber was disappointed she’d recovered her elusive facade so quickly, though he had learned that if he wasn’t able to get an immediate answer, he might be able to coax it from her later.

They began trekking west around the southern end of the ridge, aiming to connect with the route they had originally been on before they were sidetracked.

Kerillian was limping again, but she hardly allowed it to make a dent in their speed, and Kruber became increasingly bothered by it, feeling it like phantom pain from an old wound.

Even though she was leading them, Kerillian at one point insisted they were going the wrong way, wanting to turn them back around in circles. Kruber had to argue against her, explaining that he knew these woods better than she did, a statement which seemed totally ludicrous to her, and both being beyond tired and irritable, almost turned into another fight.

"If we end up lost, it's your fault," she told him disdainfully, eyes thinned in what he guessed was quite a sour look. He hoped she wasn't right, second-guessing himself, his normally sound inner compass spinning whatever way her temper seemed to dictate. He wasn't used to feeling this unsteady, this soft, and he would've told her off except for the fact that he knew she would've easily spent her diminishing reserves on such a petty row, and he wanted her to conserve as much as possible.

Otherwise they weren’t speaking much at all, and Kruber kept stealing furtive glances at her in a mostly vain attempt to gauge her internal landscape. It wasn't just the obvious thing they weren’t currently acknowledging, she was running from something else. Kruber knew because this, too, was behaviour he recognized.

It was well into the morning when they happened upon an old hunting lodge, concealed by layers of dead leaves and moss, and Kruber was finally able to convince the elf to take a pause. She was indecisive, apparently unable to reconcile her need for rest with her urge to evade.

“We don’t have time for this,” she told him, though her words lacked conviction.

“Kerillian, you have to stop. You're running yourself into the ground,” he warned, glancing down at her leg. "We need to gather strength. That was part of the original plan, too, remember?"

The tension in her shoulders slumped, which Kruber took to mean she had yielded. Kerillian reluctantly trudged up to the cabin and tried the door, laying all her weight against it, but it wouldn’t budge.

"Here, let me get that for you," Kruber said without condescension as he reached over her shoulder and popped it open with a solid shove.

Kerillian scoffed indignantly, wobbling a bit as she crept inside, grasping the wooden frame. She still wouldn’t look at him. Kruber held his arm out to steady her, then quickly retracted it, feeling fussy and absurd.

He let his eyes adjust to the room. It was modest but cozy, and looked like it was still in regular use, though he guessed not as of late. There was a small cot in the corner, even some firewood by the hearth, and a variety of horns and hides hung and piled all over.

"Take the bed," Kruber told her. She jumped at the sound of his voice, making him aware that he was very close to her still. He quietly cleared his throat and took half a step back, trying to refuse the warmth he felt from their proximity.

He felt like he was being overprotective, but he couldn't shake the sense that Kerillian needed someone to watch over her right now, even if she didn't know it herself. She behaved as if she felt like she was the one being hunted, and there was a dead weight in Kruber’s throat at what could possibly have caused that.

She tottered her way over to the cot, collapsing onto it before slowly rolling and curling up on her side. Kruber felt something like a noose tighten around his heart as he watched. Her breathing was slightly laboured, and she looked absolutely wrecked.

"I reckon you’re going to need something to eat, as well," he thought aloud.

"First you want to rest, _now_ you want to hunt?”

“You rest, I’ll hunt this time,” Kruber said, feeling like maybe she could do with some solitude.

“You can try,” she contended lazily.

Kruber was starving, himself, and decided to rummage a bit for any supplies. Immediately catching his attention was a shallow cupboard on the wall near the door. “Hang on, what have we got here?”

It was held with a simple lock, and he eagerly busted it off with a sturdy whack from the handle of his repeater. Kerillian hissed at the loud clang, and Kruber winced briefly at her.

"Sorry."

He opened the cupboard with bated anticipation, and luckily, it did not disappoint. It was a treasure trove, stocked to the brim, and Kruber could have howled with joy at the sight before him.

Healing draughts, bandage packs, potions, ammo, and rations of hardtack and dried meat. He felt his chest swell with gratitude. "Take heart, elf, our Lord Taal has not yet abandoned us.”

"Mm," came Kerillian’s less than enthused response.

"Here," Kruber offered, speaking through a piece of jerky bit between his teeth as he knelt by the cot with two handfuls of rations. "Don't even need to hunt. It's already been done by whatever blessed soul was here last."

Kerillian perked up a bit, lifting her head. Kruber found it painful to watch her drag her hand slowly toward the food, and then he feared that maybe it wasn’t out of weakness so much as reticence. He gave her a daunted look, feeling discouraged in that his attentiveness only seemed to unnerve her. He wondered how long she was going to keep this up.

He left her portions there and got back up to fetch her one of the bright green healing baubles. He was kind of timid as he held it out to her, trying to keep his distance. Kerillian leaned up on her elbow to reach it, slowly chewing on a mouthful of something, and her fingertips brushed briefly over his, making his hand flinch.

She sat up and downed the draught in one large gulp, hawking a noise of disgust. She just breathed for a while, head bowed between her knees.

“Kruber…” she began, and looked directly up at him with apprehension. Kruber seized.

She was struggling with what she was trying to say, eyes flashing dark and circumspect, weary exertion lining her forehead. Kruber had the slightest hope that she might address the driving source of his unrest, but he could only wait and watch, rapt.

“Did you mean what you said the other day?” she asked finally.

Kruber was jostled, confused at first, scrambling in his mind for exactly what she might have been referring to. “Uh… what did I say?”

“That I only ever make things worse.” Her voice was flat, but also sort of brittle, and he noticed a nearly imperceptible tremor in her hands.

“I said that?” he asked, searching for a specific memory of the event. “I was probably… I-I was angry, is all.”

Kerillian blinked, then turned away, nowhere near settled. She seemed incredibly fragile right now, and Kruber felt a fresh coat of noxious guilt in his stomach at the thought that he may have done something to spur hers, though he was aware she’d said many worse things to him in the past. It also dawned on him that even though they shared similar pain, there was a major difference between them in how they dealt with it.

Kruber ran from his. He could tolerate it with a type of medicine, one that didn’t cure him. It acted as more of a stopgap, and he knew it wasn’t ideal, but it was all he had. It worked. Even with Saltzpyre having negotiated his discharge from the army, he was now fighting the same fight in a different war. He was never afforded the convenience of being able to process his trauma.

Kerillian, on the other hand, had no such resource that she relied upon. She’d had decades, if not centuries, to process hers, and he could finally comprehend the magnitude of how little he really knew about her. Even so, the image of who she was in his mind had shifted over the recent days, a dismal and lonely portrait enriched with a flush of contrast and vibrance. She was fearless to a fault, and he knew that was the quality that made her run into the fire over and over, so many times that she had become tempered.

He admired her strength for being able to face it head on, even if the audacity required to do so was problematic. And lately, it seemed to be getting the better of her, perhaps because she was only ever able to keep it at bay, wolves driven off by the flame she wreathed herself in. Kruber couldn’t imagine enduring so many years of this, and for an immortal being, it must have taken its toll. Something had eventually tipped the scales out of her favour, and now she was surrounded.

“It’s not true, anyway. You’re more’n capable,” he offered as a support. “You make sure we’re all aware of that fact daily.”

“Perhaps you were right, for once,” she considered bleakly. “What if… what if I’m wrong? What if he is one step ahead, and this is another trap we’re about to walk into?”

Kruber felt like she was speaking in riddles again. He had never seen her brood like this before, much less question her own judgment. She seemed to be genuinely asking him if she could trust herself.

“What really happened back there?” he threw the question abruptly, and she looked stricken. He wasn’t referring to the thing she probably feared he was, but he decided to let her answer in her own way, in case she happened to be in another particularly generous mood.

Kerillian looked down at her hands, slowly uncurling her fingers, and he could see little red crescents embedded amongst the creases there. She drew a hesitant breath.

“I went to the fort.”

Kruber stalled. “You _what_?!” he blustered in astonishment. “Alone? Have you gone bleedin’ mad?”

She scowled, but it was more out of self-recrimination. “I _realize_ it was an imprudent decision. He was… he was waiting for us.”

“Who?”

“The sorcerer, that vile lump of scunner horseshite,” she spat viciously. “I... barely managed to escape.”

Kruber slowly rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, wide eyed. Truth be told, it made immediate sense to him that she would react that way as some method of avoidance, but he was more disturbed by the thought of what had been at stake.

“Kerillian, you can’t keep putting yourself in danger like this,” he told her. “You’re gonna bodge this whole plan.”

Her hands crushed themselves into white fists once again. “I know that, Kruber. Believe me, I’m well aware of my failures.”

“Then for gods’ sake, why do you keep doing it?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps this is my curse coming to reap and collect my fate,” she admitted, sounding burdened, desolate. “A slow and torturous end would be what I deserve.”

Kruber could tell she believed her own words whole-heartedly, like she’d already resigned herself to it.

“If anyone deserves that, it’s the wretched sods we’re here to kill. We should be so lucky to get a quick and easy death such as they do.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kruber,” she muttered. “Death is not an escape. Not for someone like me.”

“...What could you have _possibly_ done that was so bad?”

“If you knew, you’d probably kill me yourself with your own bare hands.” Her tone was infused with venom, designed to self-destruct.

Kruber was almost speechless. He knew this state of mind, but hers was far more ravaging, murderous even. He couldn’t imagine what it would take to inflict that level of malignance upon himself.

“Well, you _are_ a pain in my arse. Still, I somehow doubt that,” he assured her steadily. “Even if I wanted to, it’s not for me to decide.”

“What I’ve done is unforgivable.”

“Yeah? Well, you may think so. We aren’t the best judge of our own shortcomings, are we?”

To this, he could relate deeply. A vision projected before his eyes, a waking dream of sun drenched wheat fields and luscious orchards adorned with shots of tantalizing colour. He remembered the comforting scent of fresh bread and clean cotton, and he could still feel the balm of the slow summer air, his mother’s arms wrapped affectionately around his golden shoulders.

He shook himself clear of the memory, forcing it back down into the cellar of his mind.

“...I know what it is to feel regret. I’ve lost, too,” he told her, sober and muted. “And it wasn’t bloody easy to walk away from. Still isn’t.”

Kerillian went silent, bowing her head remorsefully as she buried her face in her hands. Though she still recoiled from any indication of empathy or mercy, that wouldn’t depart Kruber from his efforts, being incurably optimistic as he was.

“Y’know, I was thinkin’ earlier. Maybe what you did the other day wasn’t a mistake so much as a blessing.”

Kerillian blew out a percussive breath, doubtful. “And how’s that, Kruber?”

“If you hadn’t sprung the trap first, who knows, maybe we all would’ve been caught. Least I was able to get us out before they got the rest, givin’ us a fighting chance. And now we know what we’re up against.”

She snorted lightly, still unconvinced.

“I wish that were true. But he’s more powerful than you know. He spoke to me. He told me they weren’t there. I-I was wrong, I couldn’t find them. I looked,” she fumed hopelessly.

“And you believed him?” Kruber asked point blank, taking a bite of hardtack. “Really scrambled your eggs, didn’t he?”

Kerillian jerked her head up suddenly, eyes a fresh expression of cautious curiosity, as if it had never occurred to her.

Kruber found he had a certain clarity about the situation, an inner knowing that couldn’t be swayed. He could see that Kerillian’s interaction with the enemy had shaken her to her very foundations, but he wasn’t about to let it topple her.

“What you said before makes sense to me. If he wants to use us to power that army, he’s gonna need to sacrifice us there. That altar is probably just a fancy decoy.”

Kerillian was contemplating, hands clasped with her elbows resting on her knees, head tilted slightly downward.

“Get some rest,” he told her, and he wanted to put his hand on her shoulder for reassurance, but he stopped himself, instead reaching for the stack of hides nearby. “We can decide later.”

“No amount of rest can guarantee that I won’t still fuck this up.”

Kruber sighed heavily. He never thought he would mourn the absence of her excessive hubris. This felt like its shadow, opposite but equal in nuisance.

“What was that you said once about cultivatin’ self-esteem?” he asked, directing her back to her own advice. “You may be bull-headed, Kerillian,” Kruber paused as she made a noise of distaste at the term, “But I’ve seen you do things like take down a troll single-handedly amidst a sea of skaven. That was before the rest of us even got close enough.”

“I’m not always that lucky.”

“It’s not just luck. It’s skill, too, and smarts.”

“Who cares what it is? Sometimes it still isn’t enough.”

“It’s earned you a hell of a lot of respect from me, and I’m sure the rest as well, for starters,” he said, unfolding the hides to set up a makeshift bed on the floor. “And it, uh, usually means I don’t need to worry about us out there. As much.”

That was somehow the thing that seemed to assuage her fears. Her gloom lifted by mere inches, and she inclined her head, regarding him cooly. “And yet, here you are, worrying.”

"Guess I can’t help meself,” Kruber acknowledged slowly. “I was a Sergeant for too long. The lot of you feel like my responsibility.”

He felt like it was safest if he kept referring to her as part of the larger whole. Speaking on personal terms felt separate, too exclusive, and he was avoiding everything along those lines. He didn’t want her to think things had changed between them, though he knew from this low-key nervous giddiness he was experiencing that they absolutely had.

“And therein lies your problem. We are,” Kerillian replied with a smooth nod. “Just as you’re mine.”

The way she said the last few words landed oddly in his mind, making him question her intent. “I’m… what?” he stumbled, trying to keep up now that her razor focus had returned, though he really couldn’t blame himself.

Kerillian rolled her eyes, one of her most favoured reactions. “We’re responsible for each other, Kruber. We’re a team. That’s how this works.”

“Oh. Right, o-o’course.”

She drew a deep breath, speaking as she exhaled, much more calm and collected than she had been. “Fortunately for you, I can take care of us both better than you can take care of yourself. So you needn't worry on that account, Sergeant.”

Kruber felt muddled and lost, trying to figure out the underlying meaning to everything she said. These pieces of her that he was discovering, he was having trouble fitting them all together, like a broken prism. There were the standard ones he was familiar with, and then there were the newer ones that felt delicate, almost precious, like he needed to preserve them somehow lest they got jumbled and smashed together. Nevertheless, he was relieved to finally catch a glimpse of one he recognized well.

“See, there's that stifling arrogance we all know and love,” he half-smirked, still a little thrown off. “Not sure what you said is entirely true, but I’m glad to see you back in good spirits.”

“Aye, that wretched brew works as well as it tastes awful,” Kerillian said. Kruber felt like he was being downplayed, but then she added, “And. I must say, Kruber…”

His heart dropped into his stomach for the millionth time, jamming his blood and turning his skin damp and cold. He thought maybe Kerillian was playing with him on purpose, and hoped even she couldn’t be that cruel.

“I can see why you made a good Sergeant. You have a way of... convincing people.”

Kruber bit the inside of his lip. “Uh... thanks. I think.” He should have been delighted to receive an actual, real compliment, but he was instead left with a gnawing sense of loss.

Rain had begun to tap lightly against the roof. They could have used a fire, but Kerillian nixed that idea, and instead opted for a large brown bear skin. Kruber grumbled, having intended on using it for padding, but still handed it over. He’d slept in muddy, death-laden trenches, so his bar for comfort was low.

Kerillian had stripped her upper body of its bark coverings, leaving her tunic, cloak, and mask. She pulled the thick fur over her head, burrowing down into the cot with a deep sigh. Kruber felt a buckling sensation in his chest, a kind of cursed ache, and he averted his eyes, swallowing audibly. He removed the heavier pieces of his armor and settled in on the floor, his body giving in as he was reminded of how tired he really was. He hadn’t the strength to entertain his restless thoughts, consciousness swirling like water around a drain as he was lulled by the mild downpour (which was something that had always made him sleepy) and the even pace of Kerillian’s breath.

-

She was standing on the edge of a parapet, her surroundings nearly engulfed in a vast, raging flame. The chaotic moon loomed, casting a sickly, ominous hue, and she could scarcely breathe for the thick, pungent smoke. She felt a whipping vortex behind her, and turned slowly, strenuously, as if she were instead submerged deep underwater.

Kruber stood at the other end, separated from her by a gout of fire. Behind him were thousands of blazing corpses, three distinct and familiar in appearance among them, carrying the foulness of burning flesh upon the wind. She could not see his expression, his face cast down and shadowed. The others were already lost, and she knew she needed to reach him, her heart thumping wildly in her throat. Each step she took was excruciatingly leaden, and her voice was quelled in the impenetrable air, her body atrophied. She watched with helpless horror as the blaze began to overtake him.

‘Now do you see the chaos you have wrought with your own hands?’ the glass-like voice reverberated, donning the eeriness of a thousand layered facsimiles. ‘It is already done.’

It snickered gruesomely, and Kerillian looked down to see her palms searing with flaming blood. When she looked back up, in the place where Kruber had stood was a razed, charred skeleton, bits of flesh still clinging to its frame, the sunken dark sockets of the eyes and pained, crooked maw bringing forth a soundless, visceral scream from the depths of her being.

She shot upright, belting out a shrill, anguished wail. She was drenched in sweat, tangled in the bear fur, shaking uncontrollably while hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Her cry fragmented into beating, gasping sobs as she clutched at her shoulders in a feeble attempt to console herself.

“Kerillian? Hey, it’s okay.” A gruff, gentle sound breached her consciousness. It was dusk, and Kruber was a vague shadow, sitting up next to her with his hand laid out on the cot, reaching. “It was a dream. You’re here. It’s okay.”

“...Markus?” she choked, turning to face him.

He was further startled by the use of his given name, and she could see the white of his eyes, wide with desperate concern.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said softly. “Hey, what happened?” His hand sort of twitched toward her and then stopped, constrained.

Kerillian shook her head slowly, trying to stem the lingering sense of terror and despair. It kept coming in waves, threatening to drown her.

“He… he was inside my head. He spoke to me... I cannot bear to tell you,” she stammered incoherently. “I-I can still feel it, his voice. He knows too much.”

Kruber got up and knelt closer. “Shh,” he soothed. “It’s alright. It’s just me here, now.”

Kerillian had displaced her mask and her hood in her fitful struggle for wakefulness, and she felt stripped naked, raw and utterly broken. She had finally buckled under the weight of it all, every choice and failed responsibility that had led her to this, and she couldn’t hold everything, feeling incapacitated with grief as if she’d already lost it all.

She could no longer deny herself surrender nor comfort as she reached for Kruber’s hand, weaving her fingers with his, clasping tightly.

“Kerillian…” he breathed quietly.

“I saw… I saw flame, and death,” she cowered in a hushed voice. “Isha, _no_ … please...”

“What—what do you need, Kerillian?” Kruber implored. He sounded harrowed, as though her affliction were his own. “Just tell me. Anythin’.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to stop this.”

“Stop what?”

“You…” she whimpered, the core of her pain laid bare. The image from her dream flashed in her mind and she flinched, tightening her hold on him.

Kruber made a sound that was halfway between distressed and longing, falling powerlessly from his lips. Kerillian felt it, a sharpened pang like an arrowhead between her ribs.

There was a sudden bloom of warmth from his other hand as he brought it to her cheek, wiping at the damp trails there with the sides of his palm. Kerillian released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, afraid to close her eyes again for what she might see.

“Stay with me. Please,” she begged.

Kruber was steadfast. “I’m not going anywhere, Kerillian. I promise.”

The idea of it was too good to be true, too impossible to imagine, and she wept all over again, each touch of his affection adding to the weight of her heartache. Perhaps the gods had granted her this priceless boon so it could destroy her later as retribution.

Kruber continued to dry her skin with his hand, tender and determined, taking his time. His roughened fingers mapped the contours of her face, her pronounced cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the corner of her mouth, halting just under the tip of her chin. He held her carefully, guiding her gaze up toward him once more.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

She felt her heart spill open, his words suspending an uncertain hope that she prayed would overtake her, sending her fear and guilt into oblivion where it could no longer reach her, even if only for a moment.

“Markus…” she whispered.

Kruber blinked softly, releasing a brief exhale. She glanced at his mouth, watching his tongue dart out to swipe across his lips, and there was a breadth of motionless air between them, the anticipatory charge that precedes a strike of lightning. On a heartbeat, Kruber leaned forward and kissed her.

It was fleeting, and Kruber almost immediately jerked away as if he’d just committed an inexcusable transgression, all stunned and fearful. He began to retreat further, and Kerillian chased after him, catching her hand around the back of his neck, closing the distance between them once more.

It was nothing like the first time. Kerillian had been all impetuous heat, and now she let Kruber move against her almost placidly, like the still surface of a lagoon. It felt easy and uncomplicated, almost innocent, and she wondered how something like this could’ve remained so close yet unseen, harboured in a being that had once seemed so inconsequential. She languished in it, soothed and stirred all at once.

Kruber withdrew again only slightly, rubbing the tip of his nose gently against hers, breath puffing snugly against her mouth as his forehead tilted forward to rest. His hand flattened against her neck, smoothing down to rest just under the dip between her collarbones. He hummed, pattering his fingers there slowly, casting away any remainder of a doubt.

Kerillian kissed him again, reciprocating his pace and intent, and he groaned quietly, a small needful sound that bled life back into her. She steadied herself against him, fingers carding through his beard, and Kruber pressed back with minute force, testing her receptivity. She let herself fall, her last barricade finally abandoned as he leaned down into her.

She could sense his restraint, and she slid her fingers down against the heated skin beneath his collar to encourage him. He initiated further, mouthing along her jawline, the space just behind her ear, the contrast of his lips and smoothened bristles bringing her unimaginable ecstasy.

Kerillian vocalized her pleasure with a low moan, and that seemed to be the signal he was waiting for, knees knocking against hers as he nudged into the space between her thighs. She brought her legs up, laying parallel against his, wrapping her calves around him. Kruber was spurred, but still managed to keep himself on an even keel, and Kerillian felt grateful for his patience, wanting to get it right this time.

Kruber’s hand bunched the hem of her tunic, fingertips reaching and skidding against the humid skin beneath, almost shy in the way he nuzzled into her neck with the barest promise of teeth. She tugged at the small of his back, urging him close. His palms grazed her nipples as he pushed at the tunic, causing a flux of electricity to run directly down through her centre, and she gasped, surging up into him, yearning to be closer still.

Kruber's tongue seared a streak down the middle line of her body, and she shuddered, impossible heat broiling and leaking from her core. She kept trying to drag him flush, fingers scuffling at his back and shoulders, but his attention was momentarily focused on unfastening their lower garments, and she threw her head back in a frenzy of anticipation. Her heart held a barely contained current, igniting a boundless passion, a swelling in her soul that demanded to be fused with this one other.

Kerillian struggled against the pressure, her breath quickening before Kruber gently cupped her face, meeting her mouth again, tongue flickering inside. His motions belied something much deeper than lust, a care and devotion that he wanted her to understand through actions simpler than words. He brought his hand up, palming across her forehead, pushing back dampened silver strands as he leaned back a bit to look at her, heavy lidded and soft mouthed, pupils blown wide with desire.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and Kerillian felt the ragged grain of his voice resonate, sending a quiver up her spine.

She nodded, sliding her hands deliberately down the sides of his body to grasp the back of his hips in silent consent. Kruber buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder with a tremored breath. He began to press into her slowly, releasing a deep, guttural moan. Her knees folded up to tuck just under his arms as he buried himself to the hilt, a gradual flood of fatal pleasure, and every cold, empty space inside of her filled and dissipated in his presence. Then, looping his other arm under the arch of her back, he thrust harder, knocking a dry gasp from the back of her throat.

He rolled into her again and again as they found a purposed rhythm, and she soon lost track of where she ended and he began, enraptured by the the agonizing build, the shocking wet heat and the way it lit up every nerve ending, every small piece of her. Her body no longer felt like her own, reacting in ways she never knew possible, bursting and striving closer and closer. Her voice broke on a torn cry that cut through the gauzy twilight, and she kicked back with her hips, heels digging in just under Kruber's ribs.

She clung to him desperately as she felt her spine shudder and curve, a torrent of bliss crashing and rushing through every channel of her being, culminating at the place where they were intimately joined. She felt herself splintering, unable to contain her voice as it sang at a too-high pitch, Kruber's hand coming down to cover her lips. Her senses became distant, hard edges and lines blurring.

The thick pulsing heat slowly began to recede, and she felt Kruber jolting against her, groaning and heaving a decimated breath, hand fisted in the sheet beneath her shoulders. He finally collapsed, gasping deeply with his head laid amidst her breast. She stroked his temple with her fingertips, hair matted to his skin with sweat, her other arm draped loosely around his shoulders. She felt his lips on her sternum, small kisses for her rapidly beating heart.

Night swept the forest as they settled. Their bodies were wound, in the fur and in each other, and in a way that was a little too complex to disentangle. Kruber eventually rolled off of her with a grunt, boneless and spent. He laid on his side next to her, arm still curved around her waist. Kerillian tucked in against his neck, fitting naturally and comfortably in his arms.

She shivered from the cold as it stole away at the spots of wetness and beaded sweat, and Kruber pulled her a bit closer, his other arm curling around her shoulders. He felt like a furnace, and she folded her legs against his abdomen, breathing deeply. His scent was familiar, comforting. He hummed again deep in his chest, fingers tracing loose, lazy patterns on the back of her neck, the diffuse pleasure of his touch keeping any wayward thoughts at bay. Right now, there was only this, and she didn’t feel the need to speak, knowing in some deeply inarguable way that she was not alone. She was protected, and at last able to release her exhausted body back into the gossamer down of sleep.


End file.
